


Sex on the Beach

by brianaa_c



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Alternate Universe - The 100 (TV) Fusion, F/M, Out of Character, Soccer, The 100 - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 04:56:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6940750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brianaa_c/pseuds/brianaa_c
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'll take a sex on the beach." Clarke whirls on him, her eyes wide in amusement. "Excuse me?" Bellamy laughs, his white teeth practically glowing against his skin. "It's a drink, Griffin. Get your head out of the gutter." The 100 AU set at soccer camp. Inspired by a gifset from tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sex on the Beach

**Author's Note:**

> Credit for the gifs this AU is inspired by is the lovely alyciadcarey from tumblr :) link: http://alyciadcarey.tumblr.com/post/89279686226
> 
> Enjoy!

Mexico.

Clarke Griffin was  _actually_  in Mexico. On one of the nicest beaches in the middle of the summer doing nothing but playing soccer before her senior year. It was perfect.

She'd been working towards this exclusive soccer camp for as long as she could remember, and when she had enough money saved up and was finally invited, she couldn’t pass up the opportunity.

Clarke and the rest of the select camp were residing in beach huts for the whole two month summer. There were six soccer fields (three for games, three for practices), miles and miles of beaches (although they were used for running more than tanning), and the beautiful ocean to take it all in. 

Clarke trudged across camp from her hut to the practice fields for the first day activities with her other two roommates, the thick heat attacking her instantly, making her soccer shorts and t-shirt stick to her skin with sweat. She was from up north, close to D.C., and the heat was almost unbearable. Her roommates laughed and joked at her for overreacting, as one was from Texas and the other from Georgia. However, Clarke still felt like she was breathing in steam instead of the sad excuse of the Mexican breeze. 

Making her high school soccer team was easy. She'd been practicing ever since she was a little girl, and she was even ranked on a national level for her position. If anyone deserved a full ride to college next fall, it was her. 

As Clarke reached the fields, her and her new friends stand together as she surveyed the coaching staff, the head counselor and head coach already calling out names.

Her ears are alert for her name as her eyes lock onto a tall and tanned guy, who didn’t seem to be much older than she was. The first thing she noticed were his arms, his blue tank top tight on his taunt muscles. His long legs were just as muscular, and if she had see him anywhere but here, she would have thought he already went pro just by the way he stands. His black hair was rustled by the wind before a hand went to smooth it, and his jawline was sharp. His large hands were bouncing a soccer ball between his fingers, his dark eyes set on the girls and guys in front of him, already strategizing.

God, help her.

“Raven Reyes, green team!" 

Clarke's friend smiled at her before she ran off to the girl with way-too-blonde hair and a bit of an orange tan, her green shirt short and tight as she bounced on her toes. Clarke laughed, rolling her eyes at the young coach, liking her enthusiasm. 

Her eyes turned back to the coach in the blue, and she watched him as he surveyed the clipboard that was now in his large hands, using a pen to check something off every time his team was given a new player.

_Please say blue, please say blue, please say blue…._

"Clarke Griffin, blue team!"

Clarke couldn’t hide her grin as she ran over to her new coach. His eyes met hers for the first time, and Clarke could have gone weak at the knees then and there.

His face was warm and soft compared to his athletic build, and he returned her grin almost instantly.

"Welcome to the team, Clarke. I’m Bellamy,” he said in a deep, velvety voice, sticking his hand out. She shook it, and her heart leaped at the affirmative way he squeezed her hand.

“Nice to meet you, coach,” she says, and he crinkles his nose as he looks back to the girls lined up in front of them.

“No, no, no.” He says with a small laugh. “Don’t call me coach. That makes me feel old. Just call me Bellamy. Blake works too if you wanna be bratty, it's my last name.”

Clarke nods, and she can’t help the smile on her face that makes her cheeks ache, but she can’t think of anything else to say, forcing the conversation dead.

A few more girls are added to Clarke's team, and there’s only a few left to be assigned when Bellamy turns to her again.

“I heard you’re pretty good, Clarke,” he says, giving her another warm grin.  _This was going to be a long fucking summer._

“I’m okay,” she reasons, hoping her modesty would get her somewhere.

“Best striker in the country is way more than just  _okay._ It’s badass.” He tells her, winking at her.

"You keeping tabs on me?" Clarke flirts, lifting a hand to her forehead to shield her face from the sun while the other goes to her hip, hoping he wouldn't be able to see the blush crawling up her cheeks. 

"Ah, I can't tell you that," he says in a laugh, turning his attention back to the camp counselors. "I just know you're good enough to rival Alex Morgan."

Clarke begins to laugh at the fact he just compared her to one of the best soccer players in the world, but as quick as his easy grin appeared, it faded. 

“But I don’t want you riding on just the fact that you can kick ass out there. I want to see you work. I want you working twice as hard as these girls, showing them what to do. I want to see you sweat for me.”

She can’t help but think of the unintentional double meaning behind his last sentence, but she nods, her throat dry as she tries to swallow.

A couple days pass, and she learns more about Bellamy Blake. He’s from North Carolina, but he plays collegiate soccer at Columbia as a sophomore, which is just a four-hour car ride from her own home. He was on the National Team at eighteen, but he gave it up to play in college. He’s by far the youngest coach here, but from what Clarke's heard, he’s also the best.

He’s just too damn  _nice._ It’s infuriates her. It’s like he  _knows_ she's head over heels for him. The more she tries not to smile and she frowns instead, he smiles more. His voice is always so soothing when he’s conversing with her and sexy when he’s yelling. 

"Keep pushing, these holes you girls are leaving in the defense looks like shit!” He yells at his team with a red and exasperated face, and Clarke's eyes can’t help but travel to his long neck, his veins protruding in a way that she should definitely not find sexy, but she does anyways.

His gaze turns to Clarke, and she blushes as his face breaks into a smile. “Good work getting to the goal, Clarke," he says breathlessly, trying to calm himself down from his little rant. “You’re working hard. I love to see it.”

He jogs off to the other side of the field to work with the defenders, and she can’t help but stare after him. His thin white t-shirt clings to his broad shoulders and tapers down to loose fitting athletic shorts. His ass is ridiculous. His curly black hair is mussed and wind-swept, as if he’s ran his hands through it a thousand times before practice. 

As every day goes on and as the June warmth turns to the July heat, and the July heat turns into the August hell, the shirt begins to come off by noon and under all the soft cotton is miles of skin that might as well be bronzed marble. Clarke notices that he has freckles on his shoulders and across the bride of his nose which come out when he's out in the sun, he says. His chest and strong arms and the damn v cut of his stomach makes him look like he should be some type of model. 

Clarke hate this. 

She hate this because she wants him.

He was out on the roof of the dining hall, where everyone goes to just relax, and he smiles at her when she joins the coaching staff and some of the older campers on the roof. She felt the smile all the way to her toes.

He asks about home and she found that he was easy to talk to. She also realized that Bellamy Blake knew a lot about her. It was as though she wasn't just another camper. She didn’t know if she should be elated or nervous.

The more she got to know him, the harder it is during the days. Every singe time he yells across the field, all Clarke can think about is how it would feel to see his muscles straining around her. Whenever the team is running on the beach, she races him, just to see him collapse onto the sand, his chest slick with sweat as it rises and falls harshly with every gasping breath. She can’t help but allow her mind to wander, imagining what it would be like to have him under her. 

He, however, seems completely and utterly unaffected.

Still, Clarke meets him. On the roof with the rest of the staff and senior campers, beneath the moon, falling for Bellamy Blake and he has no idea.

Tonight was different.

The campers and the coaches all mingle when the days of long practices and games are done. Romantic relationships are off limits and both the coach and the team member risk being dismissed from camp, but Clarke never really believed something like that never happens. They're all stranded on this ghost of a beach with nothing to do except play soccer for 10 hours, so they all hang out. Finn, another coach and a friend of Bellamy’s who, she hears from the red team players that’s he’s a bit of a flirt, offers her some of his “powerade”.

Clarke is pretty sure it’s just blue tinted vodka. And she would have said no. The word is forming in her mouth until she feels his eyes on her. Those dark brown eyes are narrowed at her in disapproval from across the room. 

He doesn’t want her to do this. He’s probably telling himself that it’s because he doesn’t want her hungover for practice tomorrow, but she knows he knows it’s far deeper than that. He doesn’t want her to share drinks or even this couch with someone else. It makes Clarke's heart race and she can only think that she  _wants_ him to be bothered. As bad as it is, she  _want_ him jealous. Clarke wants just for a second for him to be as frustrated as she is.

So, she smiles and take a long swig of blue fire. It burns her throat and makes her eyes water. Blood rushes to the surface of her skin. Finn smiles, and Bellamy clenches his sharp jaw. 

God, she loves that.

The coaches for the most part are all college students, like Bellamy, so after a few hours they all decide they’re heading out to a club. Finn, more than a little drunk, asks Clarke to come. Bellamy flares his nose and sucks in a deep breath and it makes her say yes. Something about the effect she's having on him makes her drunk with power.

The air in the club is stagnant with body heat and pounding music. She joins everyone at the bar, and she finds herself drawn to Bellamy. 

"Want sex on the beach?"

Clarke whirls on him, her eyes wide in amusement. "Excuse me?"

"It's a drink, Griffin. Get your head out of the gutter." Bellamy laughs, his white teeth practically glowing against his skin, throwing more pesos on the bar counter when she smiles and nods her head.

With just enough alcohol heating Clarke's veins, she feels loose and sees no reason not to agree to dance when Finn asks. But it's Bellamy who she watches over her shoulder as he leads her to the dance floor.

With her arms raised over her head, she sways and easily finds the rhythm. It feels good and she actually smiles when Finn becomes distracted by the bouncing set of boobs dancing next to him.

The song melts into something sexier and slower when she feels him. He brushes against her and slowly eases his hands onto the strip of skin exposed between her crop top and shorts. Her skin burns under his hot touch.

She loves how Bellamy smells like the fall, even though it’s the middle of summer. Musk and spice fill her lungs as he presses his warm chest to her back. Each time she rolls her hips his fingers dig into her skin and he pulls her harder against him.

He spins her. "Even though I bought you few drinks, you're not supposed to be here," he murmurs as he leans down to talk in her ear. His white shirt is barely buttoned, his brown chest glowing, the sleeves rolled to his elbows to expose the definition in his forearms. "You know that."

Clarke just hooks a finger into his shirt, pulling him to her, swaying her hips in time with the beat playfully.

"Clarke," he drawls out in a laugh, his hands circling around her waist again and, clearly, he doesn't seem to mind about their situation any longer.

The songs change and she can’t understand the language of the music but they don’t stop. It feels like she dances for hours and move closer the longer they do. Sweat makes her skin feel slick and he buries his face in her neck and his breath is hot but still makes her skin flush with every exhale. She reaches her hand up to tug on his hair as his own become more brave, gripping her thighs and just below her breasts. His mouth is open and she feels his bottom lip drag along where her neck meets your shoulder. It makes a low whine escape her lips and she pulls on his hair again, holding him there so she can feel his lips once more.

It’s when he gets hard against her that he pulls back. But she feels it. Thick and hot pressed to her thighs and she grinds down one more time and it’s like Clarke burned him. He stumbles back with his eyes hazy and wide and an apology on his lips, his tanned skin slick with sweat that she caused.

They stare at each other and she's breathing so hard and she wants his hands on her again so much that all she can do is blink. He apologizes again and this time it just pisses her off, so she does what she learned to do best and frown. For the rest of the night and ride back to camp Clarke ignores his imploring looks and the soft way he says her name as she walks away and into her hut.

But the way it left his mouth and hung in the air in the still night keeps her up for hours as she slips into bed, careful not to wake her roommates. It’s as close to tasting him as she can get.

Only less than a week is left of camp. She can survive four more days.

* * *

 

Turning his back to her, Bellamy pulls off his shirt. The sun bounces off the tan muscles stretching and straining beneath his sweaty skin. They roll and ripple when he drags his hand through his hair. Clarke had a one-on-one set up today, and it will only be just the two of them. He said the reason for this was because he wanted to see how good she would play in college, but now she was second guessing everything.

Fuck.

Just.. fuck.

Clarke would die a slow, painful death from lust, exhaustion, frustration, or all of the above combined,. It takes all the willpower she possesses not to sprint across the fucking soccer field and mount him.

The only way to deal with this is to fight back. He might think it’s wrong but last night, he wanted her. She felt every glorious inch of how much.

Well, he’s not the only fighter.

His brown eyes light up as she approaches him and then scan up and down your legs. Maybe it was wrong of Clarke to roll her already too-short and too-tight shorts twice, but hey, her excuse was that she had gotten a nice tan from the summer sun, and she just wanted to show a bit off. She never said she’d fight fair.

“Clarke... about-"

He never finishes his sentence because she's pulling her t-shirt over your head. Plenty of the other boys work out shirtless, and the other girls train in sports bras. Clarke just never have. Now, she regrets never showing a bit of skin, because Bellamy is staring at her like he’s starving, and he wanted to kiss every inch of skin she exposes.

When he finally finds his words, Clarke just shakes her head. “No big deal. We danced. It’s okay.”

His smile falters slightly. “No big deal.”

Grinning, Clarke gathers her blonde hair and knot it on top of her head. “You’ve had your hands all over me all summer training me, Bellamy. What’s the big deal, right?”

He swallows and she catches him staring at her now bare neck. “Right.”

The morning is delicious torture and she thinks he begins to catch on because he finds any excuse to touch her. Every time he touches Clarke's hips to realign her body, her hands find his arms. She make excuses to check her shoes and bend over right in front of him effectively. She loses her balance way too many times and he catches her before she falls, actually hissing as she unintentionally-on-purpose presses her ass to his groin.

Soon, he begins to play as well, and those brown eyes get darker and darker.

His hands soon never leave her body. His thumbs find their way beneath the waistband of her shorts and it makes her shiver when his fingers reach for her panties and pops the elastic of her underwear. When he talks positioning and alignment, his mouth is near her ear and his lips brush her neck a little too long, and she digs her nails into his forearms so her legs don’t give out. 

He fucking smirks at her before whispering into her hair: “Clarke, you know you won’t win this.”

He should really know better than to challenge her. Because after a quick bathroom break he learns. When she comes back, he’s stretched out on the field, his legs splayed in front of him as his arms prop his body up from behind. She purposely unties her shoe in the bathroom just so she can tie it in front of him. Bending down, she gives him a view, and he curses behind her. 

Hearing the filthy word leave his lips makes tossing her pink panties in the bathroom trash completely worth it. 

This time when Clarke falls, he catches her around the waist and they're suddenly toe to toe and he looks dangerous. His jaw clenches and his throat bobs and she is so turned on by the way he stares at her, she's shaking. She bites her lip and something like a groan leaves his lips.

When the camp breaks for lunch Clarke doesn’t have to turn around to know he’s following her. She bypasses the dining hall completely and keeps going. Her steps are silent on the sand to the hut but his are not. They're loud and fast as he stalks behind her. She spins, putting her back to the door just as he catches her. 

She can feel the heat of his breath on her cheek. He smells of sweat. Clarke is staring at his mouth when she whispers, “Here to finish me off?”

He reaches behind her body to open the door, lightly shoving her inside before he kicks the door close and grabs her thighs to lift her all, all in one motion. “I haven’t even started.”

Bellamy's mouth is on hers as they spill into the room, and she knows they don’t have much time. She can taste the sweat from above his lips as they move on hers. He swallows the shallow pants that leave her mouth and the soft whimpers that leave her throat.

His tongue parts her lips and meets hers as her back meets the creaking twin bed in the corner. He bites her bottom lip, and she arches up into him just as he thrusts down. 

“Fuck. Fuck,” he repeats, already working to remove her sports bra. “You drive me fucking crazy, I swear to fucking God.”

Between each word, his mouth works magic against her neck and across her chest. When his teeth drag over her collar bone, she feels as if she might hyperventilate. His big hands are everywhere and he’s easily dominating her. His long fingers work her shorts off her legs, groaning again when he gets another look at her going commando before attacking her lips once more. 

Every deep moan that leaves Clarke's lips makes him grind harder against her, and she thinks she could come apart from this alone, but suddenly he’s slipping out of his shorts and boxers and he’s pushing into her and thrusting with long, quick movements.

“Fuck,” he moans, hitching one of her pale legs around his waist, knowing they have to work faster if they want to finish before lunch is over. Clarke's nails rake over his back, and she knows he knows he won’t be able to take his shirt off the rest of the summer without everyone seeing the red lines she's leaving behind. “ _Shit_ … You’re going to get me in so much fucking trouble.”

But he doesn’t seem to mind, because his lips are moving on her neck to the same beat as his hips rolling into hers, and it’s only a matter of minutes before she's a mess under him, squirming and panting and whimpering as he comes apart on top of her.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all goddamn summer,” Bellamy mutters into her neck after he rolls off of her, panting to try and get his breathing back to normal. Their bodies stick together as he kisses her again, just as hungry as it was the first time. 

He’s getting eager again, and Clarke can barely understand him as he murmurs “How much longer until lunch is over?” into her chest, biting down lightly on the valley between her breasts. 

Clarke don’t know how she answers coherently, but she tells him “Twenty minutes,” and she can feel the grin on his lips against her hot skin. He’s bruising her body with his hands and her neck with his lips, but she doesn’t care as he works her back up again, using his fingers this time, and his mouth the next. 

And before Clarke Griffin knows it, she has his number, and he’s visiting her on the weekends, and she's going to his games, and soon enough Clarke is going to school at Columbia as well. Bellamy is sneaking her into his room and he’s keeping her up all night, and he’s being a little too rough with her sore body from the amount of work the college coaches are giving her, but she doesn’t care when she looks in the mirror the next morning to see love bites all over her body. And when she slips on his light blue jersey with BLAKE printed on the back in white block letters over the number one - which is pretty much hers at this point - he slaps her ass and kisses her just like he always does, telling her to always “Kick ass today,” Just like he told her at camp all those summers ago.


End file.
